


Threads Converging

by Telaryn



Series: The Hero and The Bad Boy [19]
Category: Leverage, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Banter, Birthday, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Crossover, Emotional Baggage, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Headcanon, Kissing, Lies, M/M, Manipulation, Secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-18
Updated: 2013-06-18
Packaged: 2017-12-15 13:18:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/849990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Telaryn/pseuds/Telaryn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the occasion of Clint's birthday, Phil steps up his plan to get close to Quinn and determine once and for all if he and Barton have a chance at a future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Threads Converging

“Mr. Quinn?”

Cursing inwardly, Quinn nevertheless managed to school his features into a more pleasant expression before turning to see who had hailed him. An older man was walking towards him across the square, threading his way easily through the few people still hurrying back and forth between the shops. “I thought that was you,” he said, coming to a stop a comfortably non-threatening distance away.

There was something about the stranger that tugged at a memory, but the problem with that was in Quinn’s experience people who recognized him without him being able to do so in return usually did so for less than positive reasons.

The stranger seemed to realize almost immediately that something was off, because he chuckled softly and added, “Tennessee? The bar?” He made a show of looking Quinn over. “You healed up very well.”

Memory returned in a rush. He’d been in way over his head, trying to back up his boss against odds that had ended up being far too steep for his human body to cope with. A SHIELD agent had been on the scene that night – an older man clearly only intending to observe – but that same man had known how to respond to the Extremis enhanced agents, and had ended up saving Quinn from a very painful, very messy death. “Oh wow,” Quinn said, momentarily embarrassed by the lapse. “I’m sorry – it’s just, well…you look so different.”

“An improvement, I hope?” He had a light, clear, pleasant voice that carried easily – and in the afternoon sunlight Quinn could see that he was a good looking man, casually dressed in jeans, a maroon t-shirt and a light jacket. Not anyone that would have attracted attention he wasn’t looking for – Fury had clearly chosen well when he sent him into a situation where he needed to downplay his presence - but when he wasn’t trying to blend in…

“Definitely,” Quinn answered, and it was _then_ his brain finally caught up to what was going on and raised a red flag over the obviously flirtatious turn the conversation was trying to take. “Uh…I’m glad I ran into you,” he stammered, trying to recover his equilibrium. “I never really got to thank you for saving my life.”

The man’s smile widened. “You’re welcome, but I’m just glad I was able to help. I assume everything turned out okay on your end?”

Quinn nodded. “You were right about Clint being able to use your intel too.” The stranger had tasked Quinn with passing on a coded message that had told Clint exactly what they were facing that night and how to defeat it. “I guess you and he worked together?”

“Ah, something like that.” There was a brief, awkward pause, then the stranger asked, “Listen – are you busy?” He gestured behind him at the little bistro coffee shop on the north end of the square. “I was thinking maybe we could get a cup of coffee?”

 _Okay, definitely flirting going on here,_ Quinn’s conscience dutifully reported. He had a flash of regret – there was something undeniably attractive about the other man, but forced himself to actually say the words, “I, um, have somebody. At home. Waiting…for me.”

He could almost see the other man shifting gears, processing the new information and adjusting his approach accordingly. “I was just going to buy you a cup of coffee,” he said teasingly, “but…” His eyes roamed over Quinn again, this time making no secret of the fact that he liked what he was looking at. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed.”

Their eyes met and Quinn felt an unexpected heat shiver through him. “Thanks,” he said, swallowing hard against a mouth gone suddenly and painfully dry. “I should go. It’s his birthday.”

The man nodded. “I hope it’s a good one for him.”  
**********************  
Coulson watched his rival walk away, largely satisfied with the encounter. He’d worked as a handler for so long that he’d initially worried about his ability to properly play a mark, but Quinn had completely bought into the persona he’d built for himself. Coulson had detected no hint of suspicion or recognition on the part of the ex-mercenary.

 _Maybe he doesn’t recognize you because they don’t talk about you._ The traitorous thought wormed its way into his brain and he dutifully set it aside as irrelevant. The mission was Jonah Quinn – learning everything he could about the man so that he could determine the best way for him to return to the land of the living…and whether or not there was a chance of Clint being a part of his new life.

His realized dimly that his heart rate had accelerated; Coulson had no way of telling whether it was due to adrenaline from making contact with Quinn or something more sinister, but he dutifully slowed his pace and started looking for an escape from the afternoon heat. The irony in Quinn thinking him a hero after the bar battle in Tennessee was that taking on an Extremis enhanced agent and doing everything in his power to get Quinn to safety had pushed him well past his limits. He’d had a heart attack – bad enough that it had set his recovery back by months.

Deciding on a small café as his best refuge, Coulson smiled slightly as he ducked inside – remembering how upset Nick Fury had been when the extraction team had brought him back to headquarters. “Friendship only goes so far,” had been his final word on the subject. “If I see you pushing yourself too far one more time I’m pulling the plug on your fun.”

He’d been speaking ironically, but Coulson realized as he followed the hostess to a table that it all had been fun…in a deeply perverse sort of way, but fun nevertheless. “Happy birthday Barton,” he murmured, picking up his water and making a toast to the man he hoped to have back in his life sooner rather than later.  
*****************************  
“Okay, surprisingly I don’t want to blow my brains out,” Quinn was forced to acknowledge as they left the theater. “You figure any franchise that isn’t Star Wars or Star Trek puts a six behind a film, they’re scraping the bottom of the barrel.”

Clint clapped a hand to his chest. “You just don’t trust me, grasshopper. I’m offended! Wounded, even!”

Laughing, Quinn bumped their shoulders together as they walked. “I sat through Hansel and Gretel: Witch Hunters for you! Your argument is invalid.”

Clint was forced to concede the point, although Quinn heard him mumbling something about the payback Quinn had extracted for that cinematic experience. “Didn’t hear you complaining at the time,” he smirked, catching hold of the archer’s hand and squeezing it.

“Hard to complain with your mouth full,” Clint snarked, rolling his eyes. “Anyway,” he went on, his expression shifting to one of wide-eyed innocence, “where to next?”

“Well,” Quinn said, drawing out the word, “if you’ll indulge me with some coffee first, I was thinking we’d head down to Gypsy and wear ourselves out. I already told Happy and Pepper I wasn’t going to be in tomorrow.”

His plan had the desired effect; Clint’s entire face lit with eagerness. Quinn enjoyed dancing well enough, but he had nowhere near the passion for it that Clint did. Offering to spend his entire night trying to keep up with his younger, arguably more athletic lover was something they both recognized as a sacrifice.

 _Which is why the coffee._ Catching sight of a Joffrey’s at the edge of the mall, he shifted course – dragging Clint in his wake. They were halfway there, when Quinn felt Clint freeze in his tracks; the tension vibrated down through him and into Quinn. “Clint?” he asked, turning to look at the other man.

Something had definitely happened – Clint was staring past Quinn, and all his good humor and energy from moments earlier was gone. “There’s a Starbucks at the other end of the mall,” he said, his voice gone strangely hollow. “Let’s go there instead.”

He started to turn, but Quinn pulled him back around. “What’s wrong?”

Clint tried to laugh it off, but Quinn could see the panic rising in his eyes. “Nothing – I’ve just got a taste for a frappacino, that’s all.” He paused. “Quinn…”

Awareness that it was Clint’s birthday warred in Quinn’s heart with the knowledge that nothing good had ever come from them avoiding the difficult subjects. “If you can swear to me it’s nothing, I’ll let it drop,” he said, forcing eye contact between them.

He could feel Clint pulling slightly against his grip as he struggled with whatever had triggered him. PTSD had been a shadow over their relationship since the beginning. While they were currently as healthy as they’d ever been, Clint was still in treatment and Quinn was always mindful of moments like these.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Clint’s entire body seemed to slump – his cheeks flaming red with embarrassment. “Coulson,” he admitted, sounding miserable. “He…he had a thing for Joffrey’s coffee. No matter what we had going on, I tried to make sure he had a cup of his favorite every Friday.”

 _Dammit,_ Quinn thought. Tugging hard on Clint’s hand, he pulled the archer into a tight embrace. Clint’s arms went around him immediately, fingers digging convulsively into the meat of Quinn’s shoulders. “I’m sorry,” he sighed, his breath leaving him in a sob. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Quinn murmured, tightening his hold on Clint. Phil Coulson – months after his death the man was still a raw wound on Clint’s soul, and Quinn was no closer to figuring out a way to change that. “I love Starbucks – it’s my favorite!” He paused, realization of what had turned him towards the more upscale coffee shop suddenly washing through him. _Yeah, tell him you got hit on and you liked it enough that you’re still thinking about it on some level,_ he thought, angry with himself. _That’ll finish the evening off perfectly._

Clint hadn’t noticed the hesitation. “You are such a liar,” he said, pulling free of the embrace and dashing at his eyes with the back of one hand. “And I’m a freak. What about Dunkin Donuts instead?”

Ducking his head and leaning in, Quinn kissed him as thoroughly and deeply as he could. Clint’s arms went around him again – the embrace more comfortable this time, more balanced. Less…desperate. “Dunkin Donuts is perfect,” he said softly as their lips parted. “Wherever you want.”

“You are such a liar,” Clint repeated, but there was gratitude in his gray-green eyes as he leaned in and kissed Quinn back.


End file.
